TL;DR: Hotboxed my grandma’s prized orchid greenhouse thinking she wouldn’t come home early — she walked in, got accidentally high, and now thinks I’m some kind of plant whisperer while unknowingly demolishing snacks like a seasoned stoner.
So this happened last summer, and I’ve only now gathered the courage (and shame) to tell anyone outside my stoner friend group.
My grandma is a sweet 78-year-old Dutch woman who takes immense pride in two things: her greenhouse full of rare orchids and her homemade elderberry jam. She’s also very “don’t ask, don’t tell” when it comes to my cannabis use, which I’ve always respected around her house.
One Sunday, I’m visiting her in Haarlem. She’s out for her weekly bridge game, and I decide to take a stroll in her massive backyard. Now, behind her house is this gorgeous glass greenhouse that looks like it belongs in a botanical garden. It’s humid, filled with tropical plants, and has this serene, peaceful vibe. Being the genius I am, I decide, “Hey, this would be the perfect place to light up.”
So I roll a fat joint — no tobacco, of course, because I’m a responsible millennial — and go inside the greenhouse. I light up, and within five minutes I realize I may have slightly underestimated the ventilation situation. The air is THICK. I’m sitting on a little stool in the corner, giggling to myself, surrounded by mist, cannabis smoke, and rare flowers that cost more than my rent.
Then disaster strikes: I hear the gate open.
My grandma came home early.
I panic, try to air the place out by swinging the door back and forth like an idiot, but the greenhouse has basically turned into Cheech and Chong’s hotbox sauna. I manage to escape and pretend to be watering the roses when she approaches. She says, “Oh! You were helping in the garden? How sweet!”
She then walks straight into the greenhouse.
And… stays in there for 30 minutes.
Now here’s where it gets weirder.
She comes out with the most peaceful expression I’ve ever seen. She’s smiling, talking about how she feels “closer to nature” and how the orchids seem to be “more vibrant than usual.” She then proceeds to make us a snack: elderberry jam on toast, a bowl of cheese curls, pickles, and three different types of cookies — saying she had “a sudden craving.”
My stoned ass is sitting there watching my 78-year-old oma demolish snacks like she’s Snoop Dogg’s spirit animal.
I haven’t told her. I can’t. But she’s now started spending “mindful mornings” in the greenhouse and keeps asking me what kind of fertilizer I use because her orchids “seem to love” when I visit.
I don’t know if I’ve awakened her chakras or just microdosed my grandma into enlightenment.